


Guilty Pleasure

by ChernaKat, NuclearMcDuck



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chef AU, Chef Gavin Reed, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Food Judge Nines, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Death, Slow Burn, Trans Gavin Reed, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChernaKat/pseuds/ChernaKat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearMcDuck/pseuds/NuclearMcDuck
Summary: Gavin, a foster-child-turned-foster-parent, has had a slow start in life. Necessity has seen his natural ambition for cooking redirected towards keeping his family cobbled together, especially challenging himself to cook healthy, quality meals for them.But in the wake of losing his latest job, Gavin has to seek out whatever work he can.Opportunity appears in the form of a televised cooking competition - which Gavin knows he can win. But will the elusive, prestigious celebrity-chef judge, known to the public only as "Nines", tolerate this egotistical upstart on his show?





	1. One door closes

**Author's Note:**

> Due to a late night discussion in our Discord server, NuclearMcDuck and I have decided to write this wonderful AU together. It holds a special place in our hearts and we hope you all enjoy!

"Fuck you, Jim!" Gavin storms through the double doors, yanking his white apron off and tossing it in the same motion. "I quit!"

"You can't quit, cause I'm _firing_ your ass!" The manager yells back, his face red with anger. Gavin just flips him off as he continues walking. _Fuck that guy_ , he thinks. Where does he get off hiring not one but _two_ new employees, both of them around Gavin's age but they somehow can make almost double what he does? All because of a degree? Fuck that noise.

Gavin's worked at the hotel for a few years now. Started off as just a busboy but quickly moved up to kitchen help once Jim had seen Gavin wasn't incompetent around a stove. He loves to cook, always has. Gavin's just never had the ability to finish college to get a piece of paper that states he knows what the fuck he's doing.

Doesn't matter now, anyway. He's just thrown away the only job he's had that's even considered letting him touch food in any manner besides serving it on a tray. Gavin sighs, shoulders slumping as he continues down the road. It's only one o'clock, he's supposed to be here at least until seven this evening. But he doesn't want to tuck his tail between his legs and head home - let his family know he quit a decent job over some hurt feelings. Well, that and cut hours. Jim was planning on replacing everything Gavin does that wasn't kitchen related with his fifteen year old kid. Said she needed the life skills and such. Never mind the fact that Gavin can't help support his family as it is, let alone put food on the table with less hours.

It's all a bunch of bullshit, in his opinion. Gavin pulls out his cheap cell phone - it's at least three years old by this point - and starts looking online at the local businesses that are hiring. He's got a few hours before he's expected home and he'd much rather walk through the door with the news of 'so I quit my dead end job today but I have something new already. They're hiring me in two days' than ‘so I quit my job and I don’t know how we’re putting food on the table.’

As time drags on, Gavin finds less and less work and starts regretting his outburst, or at least how he handled the situation - he shouldn't have let his anger get the best of him. At the very least Gavin knows he shouldn't have called his boss a 'cock sucking invalid' or left the bread in the toaster until it caught fire. Probably not his brightest moment, as he looks back on it.

Jim very well may have still given him a few hours here and there, at least until he could find something more permanent. Now though, he's fucked, and all because he doesn't know how to control his temper.

Gavin run's a hand over the back of his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in frustration. He's almost thirty-seven now, and what's he got to show for it other than dead end job after dead end job?

He wanders aimlessly, killing time by pretending to look at shop windows for "help wanted" signs, despite the fact that he's long since entered a postcode where the shops are too wealthy to stoop to such lowly methods of finding employees.

He doesn't want to look Tina in the eyes when he's home six hours early. Doesn't want to explain the shit financial situation he's thrown them all into.

Gavin stops and buys himself a burger, mentally repeating the mantra, ‘" _treat yourself_ ,’" as he hands over the last of his cash in exchange for an opportunity to eat his feelings.

The first thing they'll cut from their expenses without his income, he knows, is his testosterone shots. That's probably enough justification to get himself a treat now.

He's applied to every job he's qualified for on his phone, and several that he's not. A high-school diploma only gets you so far in this world anymore. A college degree is all employers want to see now a days, and Gavin can’t give them one. Doesn't matter the reason is because he had to drop out halfway through cooking school to support his family when his parents died in a car accident. That's so tragic, they’ll say and then promptly move on to the next candidate.

He's tempted to chuck his empty wrapper on the ground, but he knows that in a neighborhood this fancy, he's liable to be slapped with a fine for something as simple as littering. He walks past a series of increasingly classy pretentious, he thought, bistros, unable to stop his mind from conjuring up a fantasy of what it would be like to work in one of those. Oh, to attain the rank of _sous-chef de cuisine_ (he doesn't even bother imagining being the executive chef; even in his _fantasies_ these days, he doesn't think he’s good enough to reach the top).

His favorite movie as a kid had been an old classic, _Ratatouille_. Tina‘s called him a _Rat-man_ ever since - albeit, lovingly - but it was something that had inspired him and his love for cooking - and Gavin _loves_ to cook. He’s no Julia Child, but fuck, if he can get four kids to eat for all three meals a day for the last eleven years, then he has to be doing _something_ right.

He scrunches up the paper wrapper of his ( _unsatisfying_ ) burger, tossing it into a garbage bin that _also_ looks fucking fancy. He'd be _such_ a good chef. Heck, at Jimmy's, he’d practically been the head chef for the last several years! Sure, it’s not a _fancy_ kitchen -they mostly served parmigiana and hot chips, but he could follow a recipe - and improvise when he needed to- at home like a goddamn pro. He'd kill it at these places. Gavin could work under pressure. He’d been making soufflés that puffed to perfection since he was ten years old, and he'd cooked through most of the cookbooks at home and perfected each dish - even changing the recipes in the book, adding his own notes when something hadn't worked out well.

He was good enough to work at _any_ of these places.

 _Fuck it all_ , he thinks, he has nothing to lose. Still dressed for work in ironed black pants and a plain black button-up, Gavin marches over to the first restaurant he sees. ‘ _I'll ask for a job as an assistant chef, or even just a damn kitchen assistant._ ’

 _Nine Lives_. That's the name of the restaurant he enters, and there's a little graphic of a cat next to the logo. He wonders for a second if it's a cat café, but once inside it becomes quite clear that it's just a run-of-the-mill, fancy-ass, overpriced lunch joint, with _way_ too many cat decorations.

Hey, Gavin likes cats - but not as much as _this_ freak clearly does.

The host, standing at a lectern at the front of the seating area, takes one look at him and says, "Are you here for the group trial? You're a little late, but go on in. It's the black door behind the bar."

Gavin feels like a deer caught in headlights. "Uh... Thanks," he says, making his way to the door. Okay, so they were already hiring, and he just happened to walk in on group interview day?

Fuck, he'd take it.

He tries to look like he's meant to be there, pushing aside the compulsion to fiddle with his phone, or put his hands in his pockets, or the myriad other nervous tics that vie for expression as he marches to the door at the back. There are no guests, and the tables are empty, so he assumes that they don't usually open on a Monday. They must just be open for the group interview.

In the kitchen, there are already around a dozen people lined up along the benches, a few cooking utensils in front of each of them.

There are three spaces with cooking utensils that are free, so Gavin just moves to stand at one of them, rather than admit that he's kinda-sorta snuck in here without having applied.

There's someone whom he assumes is the person judging the interviewees at the far end of the benches, and who arches a brow at his entry. A round man with what appears to be the worst case of resting bitch face that Gavin has ever seen.

"Are you Pollard, Newbon, or Li?" The man snaps.

Gavin freezes for a second, before replying, "Newbon." He doesn't know what the fuck that means. Are they _names_? He hopes so.

"Well, Mr. Newbon," The man sneers. "You're also late."

"Won't happen again," Gavin says, hopefully deferential enough to appease this asshole.

Apparently it works, because he goes right back to addressing the room.

The task, as it turns out, is to make a soufflé - a flavor of their choosing, from a range of ingredients in the kitchen.

 _Oh_ , Gavin thinks, letting a cocky grin take over his face. _I've got this in the bag_.

Gavin knows how to keep his sleeves clean (necessary when you don't have all the money in the world to get out the stains). He's goddamn fast in the kitchen, too, and when it comes to the tasting, his is the best.

Gavin can see how much it pisses off Mr. Sneering Asshole.

"... Well done, Newbon," He concedes, even though it seems to physically pain him. "You're actually a decent chef."

And Gavin, having learned his lesson about yelling at his employers this morning, graciously accepts the praise. "Thank you," he says, in that faux-friendly tone of voice ingrained in him since he first started working in retail.

"So, Newbon," The interviewer says loftily, sneering at the rest of the group to emphasize that Gavin's _success_ is their _failure_. "Do you think you have what it takes to make it in our kitchen?"

Gavin puffs up his chest, buoyed by the ego-stroking bullshit. "I _know_ I do, sir," he proudly proclaims, utter conviction in his tone.

 _I can't believe how fast my luck's turned around_ , he thinks, grinning widely as the rest of the room glowers at him. He winks at them, which only increases the palpable frustration emanating from the others. _Get good, you pretentious pricks_.

"Excellent." The man wastes no time in indicating a stack of paperwork on the bench behind him. "Please take a form and fill it out. That's your contract. You're hired."

Brimming with glee, Gavin darts forward and takes a form and a pen, then starts filling it out.

He's written out his real name before even thinking about it, and he pauses, tapping pen against paper awkwardly.

Behind him, the interviewer goes around to everyone else, one by one, and tells them everything he hated or liked about their dish. There's a lot more _hating_ than _liking_ going on.

Gavin listens while he contemplates how to proceed.

"Sloppy work. I would have expected better from your academy, Miller," he says, and Gavin doesn't need to see him to know that he's sneering at the poor girl.

He can't help but glance over his shoulder, and Miller is _shaking_. The kid is _clearly_ holding back tears. She can't be older than twenty.

"If you expect to work in this industry, perhaps you'd better lower your standards," he goes on, pushing into the kid's personal space, seemingly intent on bringing her to tears. "You might mop floors or wash dishes, but I wouldn't - in a million years - let you touch the food."

... Gavin kinda already disliked the guy, but now he _hates_ the asshole.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, filling out the rest of the form with his real details. _I did the best. Fuck him. He_ has _to hire me_.

Two other chefs line up beside Gavin in the end, filling out their own forms.

Most of the others have left, many with their heads hung low. Gavin nearly breaks the pen in half trying to keep his temper around that interviewer; he _despises_ people who think they’re so much goddamn better than everyone else. Gavin might be cocky, sure, but at least he could _back it up_. This guy? He was just a _prick_ who got off on making other people feel small.

At last, it was just him, the two other successful applicants, and Shitstain-McGee.

"Paperwork all in order?" He asks, and they all nod, handing him their forms.

He briefly thumbs through them, and Gavin shifts from foot to foot in spite of himself. _Moment of truth_ , he thinks, resisting the urge to bite his lip as anxiety takes root in his chest.

"... Mr. Newbon," He says slowly, pausing over Gavin's form. "Is there a reason that the name you’ve provided for your earlier interviews isn't written here?"

"Yes," Gavin says with a confidence that he doesn't feel. "It's because I'm not Newbon. My name is Gavin Reed."

The man stares at Gavin for a moment, then adjusts his glasses. He places the forms on the bench beside him, and regards Gavin coolly.

"And how did you come to be here today, Mr. Reed?" He says.

Gavin can see the other two chefs stiffen out of the corner of his eye. But he's committed to this course of action, so now he's got to follow through.

"I was in the neighbourhood, looking for work," he says. After all, it’s the truth. "And it turns out you were looking for employees."

"And where were you trained, Mr. Reed?" The man says, voice as cold as ice.

Gavin considers several possible answers, but none of them sound like something this guy wants to hear. _The school of life; Jimmy's Kitchen - no, you won't have heard of it, it's part of this crappy hotel; My mum was a whiz in the kitchen, taught me all she knew_.

Even he's not stupid enough to think that will work. So he opts for something more practical. "Does it matter?" He says, hoping he doesn't sound as defensive as he feels. "I was the best chef you had in here today; you said so yourself."

"I take it that means that you don't have formal training." His tone is mocking, now, and he's looking down at Gavin as though he's dog shit on the bottom of his Dolce and Gabbana boots.

Gavin doesn't have a response, but his silence speaks volumes.

"Well," He picks up Gavin's contract, promptly tearing it in half, then in half again. "That settles that, then."

Gavin is _incensed_.

"What the _fuck_?!" He shouts, temper rising through the roof as the day's frustrations mount beyond his capacity to contain it. "I was the best! You _know_ I can cook! What difference does it make it I have a piece of _paper_ to say I can?!"

The asshole _laughs_ , a short bark that makes Gavin's blood boil. "This isn't _Burger King_ , you lying _fiend_. This is a _professional_ kitchen. Do you have experience in fine cuisine? Hmm? Ever worked in a _real_ kitchen?"

"Test me, then!" Gavin retorts, knowing that his experience at Jimmy's isn't going to get him anywhere here. "Give me a recipe and I'll make it, and it'll be the best damn thing you've ever eaten!"

"This is pathetic. Don't make me call security, boy." He looks almost amused, but there is such _loathing_ in his eyes as he regards Gavin.

"I was literally the best!" Gavin says, tone verging more on pleading as the chance to work in his _dream job_ \- which seemed tangible only minutes ago - slips past his fingers. "Please, just give me a _chance_!"

"I think I've heard enough," the man says, picking up the remaining forms and stepping around Gavin. "You two, I will see tomorrow."

Gavin turns, glaring the prick down.

The man turns, meeting Gavin's gaze. "If you're done embarrassing yourself, you're free to leave. Oh, and _don't_ come back."

Gavin can't look at the other two chefs as the man stalks out of the room.

By the time Gavin leaves the restaurant it's already five. Two more hours until his shift would be over - if he'd still had his job. After the days events and the... monumental disappointment he's had enough and decides to head back home. He'll deal with Tina's rage once he gets inside.

 

* * *

 

Gavin turns the key to his crappy three bedroom apartment that he shares with his sister and four other siblings. He pushes the door open and lets it close behind him, the final click sounds deafening. _Time to face the music,_ he thinks, as he hears Tina round the corner.

"You're home early," she says, arms across her chest - that look on her face that screams she knows somethings up.

"Yeah..." Gavin trails off, unable to meet her gaze.

"Ok. Out with it. What you do this time?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it when he realizes his throat is tight.

 _I'm not gonna fucking cry in front of Tina_ , he berates himself. _Pull yourself together, idiot!_

Rather than answer and reveal how bad the situation is, he brushes past her - which turns out to be a mistake, as his other siblings are sat around the living room, and they all turn to look at him when he enters.

"Gav?" Tina's irate voice floats through from the hallway. "What happened?"

 _Don't cry in front of the kids_ , he thinks, marching across the living room, to the master bedroom he and Tina have to share on the other side.

" _Gav_!" Ralph's voice joins in. "Is something wrong? Ralph is worried!"

 _Fuck,_ he thinks. The last thing he needs to do is upset Ralph and cause him to have an episode.

"No." He nearly chokes on the words, his throat tight as he swallows down his anguish. "No, it's... it's fine. I'm just tired."

Ralph seems to hesitate, but accepts the answer for the moment.

"Jesus," Tina says, taking control of the situation. She's damn good at damage control - _has_ to be, when Gavin is her brother. "That bad, huh? Go sleep it off, Gav, tell me about it later," She says, waving him off.

The two younger kids haven't said anything, just silently staring between the adults, clearing having picked up on the tension, but not sure what to do.

Gavin clears his throat before announcing, "Nothing's wrong; I’m just tired. Gonna sleep, so it's leftovers tonight."

Without waiting for a response, he enters his and Tina's room, and collapses on Tina's bed, cause he can't be asked to climb onto the top bunk.

 _Thirty-six years old, and I have no job, three-and-a-half-kids to look after, and I sleep on a bunk-bed that I share with my sister_ , he mutters to himself.

He presses his face into Tina's pillow, letting the cotton soak up his tears.

Gavin is blissfully left alone for two hours to deal with his emotions and calm down. A soft knock at the door is his only warning before Tina slowly makes her way in - a cup of hot tea in her hands. She makes her way over to him, sits on the bed by his feet and offers him the drink.

"Sooo," she starts. "You wanna... talk about it?"

"No." He answers honestly.

"Gavin..."

"Fuck, fine!" He sits up taking the tea and letting the warmth seep into his hands. " I got fired."

Gavin watches as realization dawns on Tina's face. The shock, then upset... And he could pinpoint the moment when the dawning horror of their financial situation comes crashing down on her.

He swore he watched her face shift through all stages of grief, before finally settling on resignation.

"Guess the job search starts tomorrow," she said lightly, giving him an attempt at an encouraging smile.

"Guess so," Gavin says, looking down into the steaming cup of tea. _Tomorrow_ , he sighs to himself, before finally taking a sip.


	2. Another one opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for a job continues for Gavin.   
> Mean while an odd opportunity presents itself in the form of auditioning to be on an actual cooking show, if only Gavin will agree to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter!!! Please Read!
> 
> Dysphoria warning, mentions of a trans man's period, mention of losing access to HRT.
> 
> Mentions of past child abuse, nothing graphic.

**** Gavin sighs as he walks through the door to his apartment -  throwing his keys onto the counter, and moving to join Ralph in the living room." He's greeted with a "Gavin's home!" Before his foster sibling turns back to the Television. The three younger kids are over at the neighbors, like usual, playing with their two children.

It’s noon on a Saturday, and Gavin's already spent most of his morning doing interviews and more job hunting.  So far, nothing's panned out.  _ They don't know what they're passin' on. Fuckin' pricks. _ He grumbles to himself.

"Hey, Ralph," he greets, taking a spot on the couch beside him. "What’re we watchin' today?"

" _ Three M _ . Its Ralphs favorite!" His brother replies with a wide grin, before turning his attention back to the screen.

Gavin's seen the show before - watched it once or twice on the rare occasions he’s had off during its scheduled run time - but he's never really enjoyed it. Too many assholes in the kitchen and not enough focus on the food itself, least in his opinion.

As the show progresses, Gavin gets more and more into it, commenting on some of the work. "Pshh,  _ this  _ guy. That's not how you roast a chicken,  _ dip shit! _ " The one that always gets him is when the chef forgets to taste their food. "How?! How do you even get  _ onto  _ somethin' like this if you don't remember to taste yer  _ fuckin' food _ ? Augh."

Eventually, Tina comes out of their shared bedroom.  She'd asked Gavin to be home early to watch the kids. Since he’s lost his job, she's been picking up shifts at hers, working later and later nights. Gavin hates it. He hates her having to be out so late. Tina's always been a morning person whereas, for himself, working at nights never bothered him.

She rounds the back of the couch to head into the kitchen while Gavin and Ralph continue to watch the show. It's time for the judging to start.

"This is Ralph’s favorite part, Gavin! Ralph likes the judge called Fowler."

"Oh, yeah? Let's see if they know good food when they see it. My money’s on the Chris guy," Gavin says as he lays back into the couch, crossing his arms.

The contestants place their food down one by one to have the judges critique it. The first judge is a dark-skinned woman who’s resting bitch face out classes Gavin's.

"Ralph has seen this episode before!" Ralph says, bouncing excitedly, his eyes still glued to the screen. "Markus wins, but Simon is in the elimination round - and Markus cries when Simon is allowed to stay!"

"Is this a cooking show, or a dating show?" Gavin asks, unable to keep from smiling at Ralph's enthusiasm. "They gossip about the contestant's relationships more than they  _ cook food _ ."

Ralph's cheeks are tinged a little red as he answers, "That's why Ralph likes it. If Ralph wanted to watch people be good at cooking, Ralph would watch Gavin cook."

_ Aww _ . That makes Gavin almost rethink shit-talking the show. There's a pretty limited number of things that make Ralph calm and happy, and Gavin isn't enough of an asshole to take away this one thing that Ralph loves so much.

... Is what he thinks, before he hears one of the judges mention their restaurant.

"I would consider serving this at  _ Nine Lives _ ," Says the tall, dark-haired judge, his eyes shining at the contestant (Markus) who'd prepared a Salmon Carpaccio with Lemon Aioli and Pork Rind Crumble.  _ That's _ the guy that owns  _ Nine Lives _ ?  _ That's _ the cat-obsessed freak who has the most pretentious asshole of a manager at his goddamn restaurant?  _ That's _ the guy whose restaurant manager thought Gavin was too beneath them to work there?

"What  _ bullshit _ ," Gavin spits at the TV, hackles rising from the reminder of that humiliating day. "You'd never serve anything that came from someone without the right piece of paper, no matter  _ how  _ good it was, you  _ elitist prick _ ."

Ralph looks confused by his outburst.

"Ralph thought Gavin  _ liked  _ Nines?" He says, turning to regard Gavin with a quizzical expression. "Ralph thought Gavin said that Nines had pretty eyes, and a prettier-"

"I  _ know _ what I said," Gavin grits out, looking away from the TV, and absolutely not having a temper-tantrum. "I was mistaken,  _ clearly _ ."

Tina finally comes out from the kitchen, sitting down in the crappy beat up recliner. "What's all this about not serving good food without a piece of paper?" She's talking with her mouth full of cereal and it takes Gavin a moment to understand her.

"Nothin'" Gavin bites out.

"Uh huh...so uh... how did we go from 'I'd like to see  _ that _ mouth around my bratwurst' to 'he's an elitist prick'? Did something happen in the show that I missed?" Tina generally looks confused. She likes the show just about as much as Ralph does - watches it with him on the weekends while Gavin works. Well, when he  _ did _ work.  _ Fucking shit. _

"Ugh, it was nothin' alright?" Well fuck him sideways, now he's just really piqued her interest.

"Look, after I was-" He glances at Ralph. "Walked out of Jimmy’s, I went around lookin' for other work. OK? Even went to the fancier part of town and everything." He pauses for a moment, wetting his lip. Tina stays quiet - she knows how Gavin works, how he needs to take a moment before talking about something important.

He both loves and hates that she knows what to do. "I walked into the first restaurant I saw. Was gonna just ask for a job as an assistant chief or somethin'. Nothin' fancy. Well turns out they were runnin' group trials or some shit and thought I was there for it. Wasn't about to correct 'em either. Pompous asshole," he grumbles, remembering the manager.

"I went back, and it was just a competition of who could cook the best dish. Well, of  _ course _ , I nailed it - like that even be a question- and they were gonna fuckin' hire me. Tina, I was  _ this _ close to being an actual fucking chef." Gavin's holding his thumb and index finger inches apart from each other to emphasize his point.

"So, what happened? You tell the manager he had shit taste in décor or something?"

"First off, fuck you, second off, they had fuckin' cat decorations everywhere. You think  _ I  _ like cats? This place is fuckin'  _ obsessed _ with 'em I mean-" Tina attempts to cut him off.

"Gavin," She starts.

"And then they even have a fuckin' mosaic tile of a cat on the wall and -"Gavin seems to be going off on a tangent until she tries again.

"Gavin!"

"What?!"

"What.  _ Happened _ ?"

"They told me to go fuck myself ok?!" He takes a deep breath to calm down before continuing. "They told me I'd never amount to anything cause I didn't go to fucking cooking school."

"How'd they even find out you didn't go?" She asks, general curiosity in her voice.

"Had to fill out the paperwork, didn't I? Couldn't lie about who the fuck I am and expect to get paid."

Tina made an "hmm," sound, her face shifting into something impish. Gavin narrows his eyes at her, certain she is about to say something  _ lewd _ .

"Well," Tina says, looking at the TV, the light from which illuminates the small smirk dancing over her lips. "Maybe if you got your mouth around  _ his _ bratwurst, he'd reconsider."

_ Called it. _

"I'd be sure to have a mouthful of wasabi," Gavin shot back, making Tina giggle. "Teach that asshole how to  _ spice things up _ ."

Tina snorted gracelessly, but they were shushed by Ralph.

"This is the best part!" Ralph insisted, pointing to the screen.

Tina shot Gavin a sympathetic smile, and he felt better about the admission already.

Tina was the best at getting him to open up, and she was probably the main reason he hadn't blown his top with the amount of dumb shit he bottled up.

Feeling lighter, he turns his attention back to the show.

Markus had broken ranks to hug Simon, the guy who almost got eliminated, and everyone on set was cooing and fawning over them.

"Bet that's all  _ bullshit _ ," says Gavin, indicating the pair embracing on the screen. "S'all for ratings. They pick fucking  _ weirdos _ to go on these shows, I'll bet they faked their  _ whole  _ relationship just so they seemed more interesting on TV."

"Yeah, it's all editing," Tina added. "Bet they hate each other. Probably still fuckin', though."

Ralph turned to glare at them, and Gavin remembered why he was trying not to shit on this show too much.

"Ralph will have you know that they're still together!" He declares, giving Gavin a very  _ stern _ look.

"Are they a real couple, or did you read that in  _ TV Weekly _ ?" Tina teases, and Ralph deflates a little.

"... Ralph read it in  _ TV Weekly _ ," He admits sourly, turning back to the TV.

The show cuts to commercial after the heartfelt hug and awards are over with - something to do with the new season that would be coming up soon. All bullshit Gavin didn't really care about until an announcer’s voice comes on.

"Think  _ you _ have what it takes to be the next top chef on  _ Three M _ ? We're currently looking for contestants for the next season. Anyone can enter, but only the best will stay." The man's voice continues, hyping up the whole ordeal. Down at the bottom is a web address with details for the event and how to submit your interview video.

Gavin stares at it for a few moments before clicking his tongue.

"I know that look," says Tina, a determined glint in her eye.

"What look? This is my fuckin' face," Gavin grumbles back. He was not about to have his sister parade down the line of thought that he should actually enter this fucking thing _. Fucking stupid and probably all staged anyway. _

"You should do it."

_ And here we go _ .

"Do what exactly? Send a strongly worded e-mail?" He scoffs.

"No, you  _ rat _ . You should enter! Why the fuck not?"

Gavin is about to retort but is cut-off by Ralph's loud gasp.

He turns his head and sees Ralph smiling wider than he'd seen him smile for  _ months _ .

"Gavin should cook on  _ Three M _ !" He says, excitedly. "Gavin on  _ Three M _ ! Gavin on  _ Three M _ !" It becomes a chant, Ralph also grabbing Gavin's arm and shaking him in time with the words. "Gavin on  _ Three M _ !"

"Well, now you  _ have _ to do it," Tina chuckles.

"The ad says you need a video submission, I'm not doing that"

Ralph gives him a hopeful look. "Can Ralph make Gavin's video?"

Tina grins devilishly at him. "Yeah, Gav - can Ralph make your submission video?"

Gavin puts on his best pout, but his siblings are unmoved.

"... Fine. But I'm gonna keep looking for a  _ real _ job in the meantime. Not like they're gonna take me anyway. Wouldn't know what good was if it bitch slapped 'em in the face."

Ralphs finally lets him go, the smile still plastered across his face. Gavin can't help but smile a bit at it - after so much hardship it was nice to finally see something that made his family happy.

 

* * *

 

When Gavin awoke the next morning, he had largely forgotten about the show, about the asshole judge, and about pretty much everything other than,  _ I've gotta cook breakfast for the kids. _

He is still tired because Tina had stumbled in after her shift last night, jarring Gavin awake at four in the morning. Yawning, he stumbles from cupboard to fridge and back, collecting the various things he needs to make omelets. Given that Tina wouldn't get paid until Monday - that is,  _ tomorrow _ \- they only really had some cheese, half a bottle of BBQ sauce, eight eggs, a small carton of orange juice, and then some seasonings and rice in the cupboard.

He set about separating the eggs, planning on turning the yolks into some kind of omelet (adding a little orange juice and  _ lots _ of cheese, of course) and whipping the egg whites into meringue.

Gavin had just finished separating the last egg when he hears the light footsteps of Ralph, coming to stand behind him in the kitchen.

"Mornin'," He said absently, pouring a little vegetable oil into the pan.

"What are you cooking, Gavin?" Ralph asks, with a strange inflection in his voice.

Gavin wearily looks over his shoulder, only to see that Ralph is holding up his phone,  _ clearly _ filming Gavin. He narrows his eyes at Ralph.

"Who's askin'?" He challenges as he turns back to pour the egg yolks into the pan. They sizzle on the hot surface, bubbling away as Gavin reaches for the cheese and grater.

"Gavin said that Ralph could make Gavin's video for  _ Three M _ ," Ralph says happily, coming to stand beside Gavin so that he could film the cooking.

"Can't Gavin cook something harder than an omelet?" Ralph asks, sounding disappointed as he points the camera back at Gavin.

"Oi, I'm cooking  _ breakfast _ , tryna keep this family  _ fed _ ," Gav counters, grating the cheese directly over the pan. "You'll eat it, and you'll  _ like _ it."

Ralph looks disappointed, so Gavin adds, "... And I'm gonna make meringues later."

That seems to satisfy Ralph, who happily continues to film Gavin from different angles as he busies himself with getting breakfast ready.

When the kids finally pull themselves out of bed, Gavin has already got all their plates around the table, and Ralph is filming as he puts a plate of cheesy omelets in the middle.

Gavin had been twenty-five when their adopted parents had died. He and Tina had been quick to adopt the four kids in the family who were still underage including Ralph, who at the time was only nine years old. Nathan and Rupert had been three, and little Emma had only been eighteen months.

Though it took a long and draining fight, they'd managed to keep their family together.

Gavin knows what foster care is like. It was how he got the scars on his face, after all. It was how  _ Ralph _ got the scars on his face. There was no way in  _ Hell  _ that we was going to let those kids end up back in the system.

And while Gavin still had his bad days ( _ a well of bitterness and resentment in him that he could never, ever admit to _ ), he was so  _ goddamn relieved _ that they hadn't been separated.

"Ralph says you're gonna be on TV," Rupert announces as he takes a seat at the table, reaching over and plucking an omelet off the stack with his bare fingers. "Ow!" he says, sucking on his finger as the hot food burns him - he drops the omelet almost on his plate.

"Use your  _ fork _ , idiot," Gavin says, ruffling his hair.

"If you go on TV, can I go on, too?" Emma says, sleepily rubbing at her eyes.

"I'm probably not gonna go on TV," He says firmly, narrowing his eyes at Ralph.

Ralph doesn't react to his intimidation at all, just continues filming.

Ralph moves around to get all three kids in the shot as they dig into their omelets.

"Ralph is filming Gavin's application for a cooking show," he explains, and the kids all perk up, looking at the camera. "So, tell the judges; is Gavin's cooking good?"

A chorus of " _ yeahs _ !" echo around the table and Ralph pans around to catch Gavin rolling his eyes.

"You all just say that so I'll keep cooking for you," He says dismissively, crossing his arms and doing his best to look sullen.

Gavin could see Ralph's smile over the top of the phone, and he couldn't help but be glad that Ralph was so excited about his little project, even though Gavin knew it wouldn't amount to anything.

Over the next few weeks, Gavin's routine continued; make breakfast, get the kids ready for school, chide Ralph for following him everywhere with his camera, and then go out and continue to look for work. Most of the time this involved submitting resumes online and binge-watching some TV show with Ralph (and, of course, cooking meals for the family). Other days, it was literally walking into small businesses and dropping off a resume. It always felt more promising when he actually got to hand a CV to a real person, but even that was returning no results.

Tina had to keep taking her co-workers shifts, even when it meant she had to do opening and closing shifts back to back - and sometimes no one else wanted time off, and they just had to get by on paying the rent and Gavin and Tina skipping a meal or two.

Gavin watched nearly two months pass by without a  _ single _ response to the countless resumes he'd submitted.

They still had  _ some _ savings, but neither Tina nor Gavin wanted to touch them. The only thing they went towards was Ralph's appointments with Dr. Chapman, and on bad weeks, the rent; though the unfortunate timing of the electricity and utility  bills had taken a considerable chunk out of what was left.

"It was so easy to forget how little our jobs pay when both of us were working," Gavin grumbles, glaring daggers at his phone, which is cheerily displaying his bank balance on the screen.

"Speak for yourself," Tina moans, curling further into the couch.

Gavin was lying on the recliner, finally letting his internal frustrations show, given that the kids had gone to bed. He didn't want them to stress, but they were old enough to know what it meant when all their meals were rice-based, and no one was allowed to buy take-out.

"I guess I just figured things would work out," He says despondently, closing the banking app, tossing his phone on the side table, and rubbing his palms into his eyes; as though that would do anything to relieve a stress headache he'd had since paying that fucking electricity bill. "Didn't think I'd be struggling  _ this much _ when we were  _ this old _ ."

He could barely hear Tina's response, muffled as it was amongst the couch cushions. "Maybe we should consider prostitution."

"I hope that's a joke," Gavin groans, sinking further into the chair, shifting his glare to the TV. They weren't really watching the show that was on, but neither of them was comfortable with the silence, either.

"I think you'd be good at it," She chuckles into the cushion.

"Go to  _ sleep _ , Teeny!"

She'd only come back from her shift twenty minutes ago, and it was clear that she needed to sleep.

"Fuck off, you mooch," She shot back, voice still light with amusement.

The words hit Gavin hard regardless, the guilt stabbing him right in the sternum, a tightness balling in his chest.

His lack of response had Tina wiggling around so that she was no longer pressing her face into the back of the couch. Now, she was looking at Gavin, eyes brimming with concern. "I was joking, Gav," She said, seriously.

Gav didn't want to answer, afraid that he might choke up. It was hard to put out so many resumes and hear  _ fucking nothing _ . There was no better way to feel like  _ shit  _ than to be rejected without so much as a, "Thank you for applying!" over, and over, and  _ over _ again.

"We  _ will _ make it work, Gav," She says quietly.

Gavin just nods, turning and pretending to watch the TV.

Ten minutes later, Tina’s snoring into the couch, but Gavin is still staring blankly at the TV, fingers drumming against the arm of the recliner.

What the fuck were they supposed to do? He had worked at Jimmy's for  _ five years _ and held down jobs before that for months or years at a time. Surely that counted for something to employers now? He was starting to suspect that maybe Jimmy was talking shit about him, and maybe he should try again with Tina as a reference instead. A little lie to finally get them back on track. Maybe  _ then _ he could finally help Tina pay the bills, rather than sit around uselessly, wasting electricity and food.

"Gavin?" Came Ralph's reedy voice from the doorway, only  _ just _ loud enough to be heard over the TV and Tina's impressive snoring.

Gavin was quick to wipe the tears from his eyes, hoping that his red eyes would be hidden by the dark, or explained away by tiredness.

"What is it, Ralph?" Gavin asks, then pauses to clear his throat to try and remove the lump from it. "You feelin' okay?"

"Yes," Ralph says, though he looks nervous. He is playing with the hem of his poncho, which Gavin  _ knows _ is his security blanket, which means that Ralph is  _ really _ freaking out about something.

Gavin sits up a little straighter and leans over to pat the arm of the couch. "C'mere and sit down, Ralphie," He says, automatically switching to what the kids call his "dad voice".

Ralph shuffles into the room and gingerly sits on the couch arm, carefully avoiding disturbing Tina. He sits awkwardly, his hands in his lap still wringing out the hem of his poncho. Even though they are only lit by the low light of the television, Gavin can clearly see Ralph's wide eyes and the way he chews his bottom lip.

"What's going on, Ralphie?" Gavin asks gently.

"Ralph had an idea," He starts carefully, looking at his hands rather than at Gavin. "Because Ralph knows we don't have much money."

A part of Gavin is worried that Ralph is going to pull a  _ Tina  _ and suggest prostitution, but another part is heartbroken that Ralph is even having to worry about this _ at all _ . Ralph is just so  _ sensitive _ , but there's nothing Gavin can do, except keep looking for work...

"You don't have to do anything," Gavin says, clapping a hand on Ralph's knee. "Tina and I have it sorted. As long as you are around to help the kids with their day to day, we can sort out the rest." He adds a few reassuring pats to his knee for good measure, before settling back in the recliner.

Ralph pins him with a look that hits Gavin right at his core, his eyes a mixture of  _ concern _ and  _ frustration  _ and so, so  _ sad _ . "Ralph can help," he insists.

"... Alright," Gavin sighs, feeling his headache returning with a vengeance. "What's your  _ idea _ ?" He can at least hear him out. Ralph may have his problems, but he isn’t  _ stupid _ .

Ralph seems to take a moment to brace himself, before saying, "If Ralph stops seeing Rose for a little while..."

" _ No _ ."

Ralph startles, but quickly his face sets into a resolute expression.

Gavin stares back with equal determination.

"Ralph's sessions are expensive!" He insists, hands now fisted around his poncho. "Ralph is doing so well, though, so Ralph can stop going for a few months!"

"Ralph, I will  _ eat dog food _ before I let you stop seeing Dr. Chapman!" Gav retorts, loud enough that Tina stirs and mumbles something incoherent.

They both fall silent, not wanting to wake her.

"Look," Gavin hisses, wary of raising his voice too high. "You  _ need _ Dr. Chapman, okay? I'll get work  _ soon _ . Then everything will be fine."  _ And maybe if I say that enough times, I'll believe it myself. _

"Ralph will be okay," Ralph says quietly. "It will only be for the season that Gavin is on  _ Three M _ . Then Ralph can see Rose again."

A beat of silence passes before Gavin can cohere his thoughts enough to respond.

"...  _ Three M _ ? Ralphie, I don't think-"

"No, Gavin will be on the show!" Ralph says, beaming.

" _ Ralphie _ -" Gavin didn't know what to say. Maybe he'd fed into Ralph's little fantasy too much by letting him make that silly video and signing off on the forms for Ralph to submit. Now Ralph was pinning his hopes on Gavin going on TV, as though that would magically fix all their problems. "Look, it's not gonna happen. That's okay. Really, I've got a plan for getting a job - I think Jimmy's been talking shit, that's all, I'll just list someone else as a reference and I'll be hired in no time." He tries to give him a reassuring smile, but Gavin’s sure that even in the low light, it looks more like a pained grimace.

"But Gav-"

" _ Ralph _ ," Gavin says firmly, letting his  _ scary dad voice _ make an appearance. "I won't let you compromise your  _ health _ over some crazy idea that reality TV can solve our problems. You  _ need _ Dr. Chapman-"

"What about  _ Gavin's _ health?" Ralph interrupts sharply, eyes narrowing at Gavin.

"... What  _ about _ my health?" He was thrown.

Ralph hesitates, looking almost guilty, before muttering, "Ralph knows that Gavin has been bleeding."

Gavin is frozen for a moment, feeling embarrassment flare up in him before quashing it down. "That's got nothing to do with this," He says, though in a voice much smaller than he had meant it to be.

"Gavin is sacrificing his health for the family, why can't Ralph?" Ralph challenges. "Gavin has stopped his shots. Ralph can skip a few sessions."

"It's not- it's  _ fine _ . It's not cause of the testosterone,  _ probably _ . I lost some weight, you know, and that might-  _ Don't give me that look _ !" Gavin crosses his arms over his chest defensively. "I mean it. It's  _ different _ . And how would  _ you _ know, anyway?"

Ralph scratches at his chin. "Ralph saw it when taking out the trash."

They stare at each other for a moment, sharing in the awkwardness of the scene.

Ralph is the one who breaks the silence. "It  _ is _ the same," He says quietly.

Gavin is about to counter that, but Ralph beats him to the punch.

"Gavin has looked after Ralph, and Emma, and Nathan, and Rupert, for  _ so _ long," Ralph implores, reaching out and holding onto Gavin's shoulder. "Ralph is grown now, and he wants to help Gavin."

Gavin  _ wants _ to argue back, he  _ does _ , but he's afraid that he'll start sobbing if he tries to speak right now.

"... And Ralph heard back from the studio, too," Ralph adds, finally grinning again, and that makes the tight ball of anxiety around Gavin's chest ease a little. "Gavin is invited to the second round of auditions!"

Something about Ralph's wild enthusiasm and unwavering optimism makes Gavin calm down a notch. The fact that Ralph cares enough about this to give up his sessions with Dr. Chapman... And it's not like it could hurt to go to this  _ audition _ , or whatever. And once Gavin gets rejected, Ralph will at least have closure over the whole thing.

"Okay, Ralph," Gavin croaks. "I'll go to this thing. I'll try and be on your stupid TV show."

Ralph's smile brightens up the whole room.

Ralph goes so far as to come over and hug Gavin, which is a  _ big deal _ , given that Ralph isn't big on touching  _ anyone _ .

"... Thank you, Gavin," Ralph says, wrapping his arms around Gavin's shoulders and  _ squeezing _ .

"... Anything for you, Ralphie," Gavin says, squeezing back.

The poignant moment is shattered when a cushion bounces off Gavin's head, and Ralph jumps backward, head whipping around for the source of the projectile.

"Can you two go the  _ fuck to sleep already _ ," Tina moans, hurling another cushion at the pair, though this time it sails well over Gavin's head.

_ The things I put up with in this family _ , Gavin muses, as he picks up a discarded cushion and hurls it at Tina's stupid face.


End file.
